


The Sweetness of Us

by vaughnicus



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cupcakes, Fluff, Kitchen blowjobs FTW, M/M, tumblr inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:28:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaughnicus/pseuds/vaughnicus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on <a href="http://coolfeyrad.tumblr.com/post/64706583460/every-time-i-see-stuff-about-baking-on-tumblr-i-just"> this</a>. </p>
<p>Grantaire just wanted to make cupcakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweetness of Us

**Author's Note:**

> Completely butlerbookbinding's idea. I just did what was asked.  
> (This was originally posted on my [blog](http://www.jehansmuse.tumblr.com).)  
> (I promise I'll get back around to writing plot-driven stories eventually. But for now enjoy the sexy fluff.)

"Why are we doing this, again?" Enjolras asks, eyeing the ingredients on their counter suspiciously. 

"Because it’s Jehan’s birthday tonight, and you know how much he loves baked stuff. Besides, I haven’t treated you all to my fabulous cupcakes in ages and it’s about time I was praised for them again."  

Grantaire grins, and Enjolras groans. “Fine. For Jehan. Tell me what to do.” 

Grantaire pecks him on the cheek before handing over the recipe, instructing him to take care of the batter because it’s easy as long as he remembers to mix the dry stuff first and then the wet. 

"I’ll be making the frosting, because everybody knows that it’s the frosting that makes the cupcake and I have the best secret recipe."

Enjolras gets to his task with his usual terrifying focus, which verges on amusing when it’s directed towards a bright pink bowl he’s stirring batter died spring green in. (Grantaire had insisted - they had food dye and it’s Jehan’s favorite color.)

So he doesn’t really register Grantaire working beside him until an unpleasantly familiar scent drifts over to him. He straightens up and looks over to see Grantaire pouring a generous amount of red wine into his mixing bowl, catching Enjolras staring and looking utterly unrepentant. 

"What? It’s part of the recipe." 

“ _Your_ recipe, maybe. These are for Jehan.”

"And he loves them this way, I promise. They don’t taste the same without it! Oh, don’t look at me like that; it’s not even that much per serving. You can barely even taste it; it just adds some depth." 

Enjolras rolls his eyes but relents, transferring the batter to their waiting cupcake tins while Grantaire turns on the oven. Soon the pans are inside of it and they’re leaning on the counter, keeping an eye on the time while Grantaire absently stirs the frosting. They get caught up in one of their usual bickering discussions, and it’s just about to turn heated when Grantaire moves his hand to far and hits the frosting spoon, flipping it over the edge of the bowl and sending the whipped topping flying across the kitchen. 

The spoon lands on the floor with a clatter, and Grantaire winces at the small but widespread mess he’s made. He turns to Enjolras to apologize (or make some sort of quip about it, but then clean it up) and freezes, pressing his lips together to keep from laughing. 

Enjolras is facing him, jaw tense, expression deceivingly calm. There’s bright red frosting splattered across his face from jaw to temple in sticky lumps. 

The two stare at each other for a minute before Grantaire cracks, supporting himself against the counter as he gasps with laughter. Enjolras tries to stay annoyed, but is helpless in the face of Grantaire’s happiness and ends up reaching past him for the paper towels, intent on cleaning the mess up before the oven timer goes off. But Grantaire catches his wrist before he can reach the roll and stands up, eyes suddenly dark as he moves closer to Enjolras. 

"Don’t bother. I made the mess; it’s only fair I’m the one to clean it up."

He ends up just centimeters from Enjolras’ face as he finishes the phrase, and Enjolras gasps when his tongue darts out to lick the frosting off his cheek. 

"Grantaire-"

He doesn’t finish his thought, breath escaping him when Grantaire continues his ministrations, methodically cleaning the frosting from his face with his lips and tongue. It should be gross, but it’s really, really not. Grantaire smiles wickedly at him and finally covers his lips, reaching under his shirt with one hand and somewhere behind him with the other. He presses close, kissing him deeply (and his mouth tastes  _sweet_ , and oh no, this should not be so  _sensual_ ) as he works open Enjolras’ buttons. 

"Grantaire, we’re supposed to be baking-"

"We’ve got time." 

He pushes Enjolras’ shirt to the ground and kisses him again, distracting him from his cold hand that’s now - what. 

"Grantaire!"

"What?" 

"You - that’s -" There is now a dollop of frosting on the center of his chest, put there by Grantaire. "That’s not - clean? - ohh…"

"You don’t sound very convinced," Grantaire teases, the bastard, taking note of how Enjolras has to lean back against the counter when he drags his tongue over the smear of frosting to clean it up.

He dips his hand into the mixing bowl again and draws it down Enjolras’ torso, leaving stripes of red on his abdomen, leading all the way to his jeans. 

"Grantaire, the  _cupcakes_ -“

The artist drops to his knees and takes hold of Enjolras’ hips, determinedly working to clean the marble surface he’s dirtied. 

"No really, the timer-  _Fuck.”_

Grantaire’s got his button undone and his zipper down in record time, having finished with the frosting, though his work is evidenced by the colors left on his lips and hands and the stripes of dye left down Enjolras’ body and  _why is this so hot._

Grantaire pulls down Enjolras’ pants and underwear, halting for a moment as his gaze skips between the sight in front of him and the frosting bowl on the counter. 

"Don’t you dare." 

Grantaire only smirks. “Next time.” It sounds far too much like a promise for Enjolras’ liking, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it before Grantaire has taken him in his mouth, and  _okay._

_“_ Damn it, Grantaire, the  _cupcakes,_ think of the cup- _oh fucking christ-“_

He’s got a painful grip on the counter, chin down and breath heavy as he stares at Grantaire. Grantaire, whose lips are still stained red where they’re wrapped around him; whose fingers are leaving bloody prints on his thighs; whose  _yeah, wow, this isn’t going to take long._

"Ah, God, Grantaire - fuck, how you look right now -  _God. Right there do that again, jesus-“_

He’s transferred both hands to Grantaire’s hair, though the strength of their grip hasn’t lessened, and they really shouldn’t be doing this it’s so unsanitary but so weirdly hot and he’s close, he’s so, so close,  _oh God, Grantaire_ -

and that’s when the fire alarm goes off. 

Grantaire pulls off of him and falls to his seat, eyes comically wide. 

“ _Shit fuck cocks-_ " Enjolras pulls himself together enough to turn the oven off and wave a towel at the smoke detector, coughing at the smell. How did they not notice that? 

A minute later finds the alarm off and them collected enough to ease open the oven, Grantaire bravely diving in with mitts to salvage what’s left of their efforts. He emerges coughing , with both tins in hand. 

There’s not much left of what they put in the oven. A blackened crust covers overly-tough cake, and damn it, that will  _not_ be fun to clean. They just stand at the counter for a full minutes, staring at the calamitous results of their attempt. 

"You know this is your fault," Enjolras eventually says. 

Grantaire shoots him a dirty look. “Well, I didn’t expect you to look so fucking delicious in frosting,  _cupcake._ ”

Enjolras has a scathing retort on the tip of his tongue when something catches his eye, and his expression turns alarmingly innocent.

"You know," he says, hand creeping across the counter. "There’s a lot of frosting left… and we don’t have any use for it now…" 

Grantaire catches sight of his finger dipping into the bowl and gapes. “Well I… I could certainly think of a few uses.” 

Enjolras is suddenly flush against him, brushing frosting onto his nose as he growls, “why don’t you finish what you started?”

 

When they show up late to Jehan’s party stained multiple colors and holding store bought cookies, nobody asks. 


End file.
